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‘We don’t remain ourselves, we completely drown in the character we are playing,’ Sai Suma, a Yakshagana artist, who often plays male roles, tells me. She goes on, ‘The more we perform, the more Yakshagana changes our personalities—our voice becomes louder, our walk more masculine—people say why are you walking like that!’

I travelled to Coastal Karnataka, the home of Yakshagana, to learn about and photograph Mahila Yakshagana. I was curious to see the form that this young practice is taking, as women are participating as equals in this performing art space that solely belonged to men for hundreds of years.

The first all-women’s troupe was put together in 1989 by Poornima Rai, one of the pioneers of Mahila Yakshagana. ‘At that time there was not much opportunity for growth in Yakshagana. The situation is a lot better now—parents are much more supportive,’ says Poornima, who currently teaches 200 students at her home in Surathkal, in the suburbs of Mangalore. The students are from all age groups, ranging from five to 65. By the early 2000s, more women, some of whom were dancers from other traditions like Bharatanatyam, were involving themselves with Yakshagana.

One such dancer was Sumangala Ratnakar, who joined forces with Poornima Rai to encourage Mahila Yakshagana. As she was preparing for a programme in 2013, a new thought came to her mind: ‘Why don’t we do an all-women prasanga?’ Before that we didn’t have the opportunity to do a seven-hour full-fledged performance. To be honest, in 2013, before this programme, the idea of Mahila Yakshagana had not gained much prominence. At the beginning there was fear about how it will turn out. But touch wood, by god’s grace, the program was such a huge hit that there was no looking back for Mahila Yakshagana.’

‘Many years ago, Yakshagana used to be performed in paddy fields or in temple premises. Once the day’s work was complete, people carrying mats would come from far away and spend the night watching the performance. It was a kind of an unwinding after a long day’s work—for the performers as well as the audience,’ Vasundhara Shetty, a Yakshagana artist, says.

Yakshagana is said to have originated between the 11th and 16th centuries, remaining a predominantly male practice until recently. Many new influences from theatre, temple arts, folk and rural arts, cinema, and the artists’ own imaginations, have all been interwoven over a period of several hundred years. The content of the dance dramas is typically drawn from the kavyas— the epic poems Mahabharata and Ramayana, and the Puranas. Folk tales have been a more recent addition. Bringing together costume design, make-up, theatre, dance and music, Yakshagana is one of the richest art forms in India.

The performance is controlled by a storyteller (the bhagavatha) who narrates the story by singing (which includes prepared character dialogues) as the actors dance to the music, portraying elements of the story as it is being narrated. The entire progression of the performance is controlled by music. However, the role of music in Yakshagana is only to complement the dance and acting. Initially, the medium of narration was in Sanskrit, but nowadays Tulu and Kannada, the local languages of coastal Karnataka, are more popular. The dance drama has evolved to become a year-round show performed by professional troupes, which means the audience now require tickets to watch them. As it stands today, Yakshagana is progressively becoming more inclusive—not merely with regard to its content, form or audience but also in terms of who the performers are.

Vasundhara explains, ‘The inclusion of women and children has led to renewed interest in Yakshagana. They say that Yakshagana is seeing a growth curve now because of the number of women and young children who practice and learn the art with heartening enthusiasm. If we continue to develop the form while keeping in mind its roots, we can say that the future holds promise.’

As I learnt about Yakshagana, I was of course struck by the drama of the painted faces, the frills and colours on their costumes and the towering headgear. But beyond the performances onstage, I was particularly fascinated by the world of the Yakshagana backstage. Unlike most other green rooms that are inaccessible to non-performers, the Yakshagana green room is a space that welcomes friends and family, children and curious onlookers like me intent on documenting them.

Owing to the improvisational nature of Yakshagana, there is much conversation and camaraderie between artists in the green room. There is a sense of comfort and ease that nestles in the atmosphere, as if it is simply an extension of their homes. One catches them discussing the upcoming performance: ‘How do you want to play your character?’ or ‘What are you feeling like today?’—they ask each other. They then guide the narrative of the performance based on this interaction. The idea of a set script is absent and rehearsals are seldom held.

I was most mesmerised by the transformation of the women I met into mythical, larger-than-life characters. Many women have embraced Yakshagana for the sense of physical freedom that it has allowed them to experience: the exaggerated, big, broad and open movements, which are otherwise atypical attributes of a ‘feminine’ body, are found to be liberating. The women and young girls I met in the green rooms shared their stories with me with bare honesty and allowed me a peek into their world of Yakshagana like I was never an outsider. The following series of photographs hopes to show this world of Mahila Yakshagana—the performances, the explosive mela that their green rooms are, and the quieter, more personal, magical narrative of the artist transforming from the person they are into the heroic characters they perform.

Malati Venkatesh, as the character Veeramani in the prasanga ‘Veeramani Kalaga’, waits for her cue to go on stage. She is now in her 30th year of practising Yakshagana and has done more than 500 odd shows. ‘I used to watch Yakshagana right from my childhood. I had this desire to dance like that—not the sthree vesha (female roles), instead the raja vesha (male roles)—I really wanted do it,’ she says. Many women have embraced Yakshagana for the physical freedom it allows them; the big, broad and open movements—‘atypical’ attributes of a ‘feminine’ body—are found to be liberating.

Yakshagana might have originated between the 11th and 16th centuries, remaining a predominantly male practice until recently. Many new influences from theatre, temple arts, folk and rural arts, cinema, and the artists’ own imaginations, have all been interwoven over a period of several hundred years. The content of the dance dramas is typically drawn from the kavyas— the epic poems Mahabharata and Ramayana, and the Puranas. Folk tales have been a more recent addition. Bringing together costume design, make-up, theatre, dance and music, Yakshagana is one of the richest art forms in India.

Yakshagana is typically performed after dusk until dawn. From paddy fields, royal courts, temples and now to auditoriums, the performing space has seen an evolution over hundreds of years. On some days, the women perform on a simple 8 feet x 12 feet stage; on other days—like in this photograph—their place of performance takes on the festivity of a fair.

A man always performs the Chowki Puja along with members of the Himmella—the bhagavatha and other musicians. The male presence in Mahila Yakshagana remains over-bearing. None of the women artists would perform in shows without the permission of either their husband or father. Vasundhara says, ‘There are many instances when people come up to us and say we have a bright future in Yakshagana but I used to laugh inwardly at those times because our fate is entirely at the mercy of our family or the family that we marry into.’

Owing to the improvisational nature of Yakshagana, there is much conversation and camaraderie between artists in the green room. There is a sense of comfort and ease that nestles the atmosphere, as if it is simply an extension of their homes. One catches them discussing the upcoming performance: ‘How do you want to play your character?’ or ‘What are you feeling like today?’—they ask each other. They then guide the narrative of the performance based on this interaction. The idea of a set script is absent and rehearsals are seldom held.

Villagers stop by to watch a daytime performance of Girija Kalyana at a temple premise in Karkala. Seen onstage are artists Sai Suma and Revathi. Sai Suma’s father is a Yakshagana artist himself who has been performing in the Kateel Mela (a distinguished troupe of Yakshagana artists) but she was never encouraged to learn the art form. ‘Even as recently as 5–6 years ago, there was not much support for Mahila Yakshagana. If we said we are going to perform, people would be completely dismissive by saying “they are just going to jump around” (literally translated from colloquial Kannada) with no acknowledgment of any skill or effort on our part. We were seen as gand beeris (tomboys) and there would be much mocking if we came home late after the performance.’

As I learnt about Yakshagana, I was of course struck by the drama of the painted faces, the frills and colors on their costumes and the towering headgear. But beyond the performances onstage, I was particularly fascinated by the world of the Yakshagana backstage. Unlike most other green rooms that are inaccessible to non-performers, the Yakshagana green room is a space that welcomes friends and family, children and curious onlookers like me intent on documenting them.

Yakshagana trainer Sumangala Ratnakar assemble her students before a performance. When asked if there is any one role defined as a ‘director’ in Yakshagana, she says, ‘Nowadays people call themselves directors but the prasanga itself is already ready. So I think it’s actually better to have “ranga nirdeshana” which is a rough sort of choreography/guidance that focuses only on the movement on stage. In Bharatnatyam, more precise directions and rehearsals are necessary because of how synchronised the entire performance is. However, in Yakshagana, the musicians tailor their act according to the rhythm of the performers so all that needs to be done for the performance to be convincing is for the performers to experience their characters and express that.’

Gejje kattodu—meaning ‘to tie anklets’—is a colloquial way of saying saying ‘to perform’ in Kannada. Here, children take a break from the process of preparation and dangle their feet sitting on a ledge overlooking fields.

The aspect of make-up in Yakshagana is an art in itself. It follows systematic methods and unique techniques depending on the character that is being painted. A generous smattering of powder after the base make-up, however, is common to all.

Some girls, like Maithri and Shilpa in this photograph, are learning essential skills like make-up in order to become self-reliant. While there are very few who are able to do more than just the base make-up, it is a huge step towards Mahila Yakshagana becoming less dependent on external make-up artists.

The two to three-hour process of preparation is said to be therapeutic and meditative. It is the slow transition that helps performers evolve into their characters organically.

Another key component of metamorphosing into the character they play is to envision the emotions of the character— the contemplative mind space during the process of make-up allows for this kind of envisioning. The artists then absorb the various emotions that they imagine the character to experience and present that on stage. The performers say, ‘The Chende and Pettu played in the background also give us a feel for emotion and the way it needs to be expressed. If you have thought through the character in your head, when the Chende and the Pettu begin to play, the expression happens automatically.’

Sumangala Ratnakar paints her feet red in preparation for her role as the devi who defeats Mahishasura. ‘I take on sathvika roles more, I feel my body language suits characters like Devi or Krishna better.’ Stemming from a Bharatnatyam background, she says, ‘The foundation that I had in Bharatnatyam helped me learn Yakshagana - The theory I learnt in Bharatnatyam allowed me to better understand the nuances of Yakshagana.’ Her contribution to Mahila Yakshagana has been hugely impactful: taking the initiative to bring together and teach several women and girls has been instrumental in creating the opportunity for Mahila Yakshagana to thrive.

The camaraderie that develops between artists as they spend hours together in the green room shows itself, not uncommonly, in casual expressions of affection like this.

Sai Suma in preparation for her role of the tiger in the story of ‘Punyakoti’. ‘I would never play rakshasi roles that needed a different kind of voice before,’ she says, referring to ‘demonised’ characters that require a hoarse, loud voice. ‘Some people have identified a shortcoming in Mahila Yakshagana on the basis that women’s voices are not as strong or high pitched as men’s. But even with regard to this, people like Sai Suma have put us on par with male artists,’ says Vasundhara. ‘Listen to her voice when she performs—you won’t be able to tell if it is a man’s or woman’s.’

Malati, a seasoned Yakshagana artist who often does male roles, says she learnt the art form through observation, ‘You can only be taught so much—they will teach you the steps, but what happens beyond that is completely left to us.’ She elaborates that her preference for raja vesha might stem from the fact that the movements are easier to learn or because it is a male form. ‘But the gath (rhythm) of Raja Vesha is itself different, the style too. I like that. I like wearing a kirita (crown/head gear) and being on stage.’

The elaborate process of make-up enables the artists’ transformation into their patras (roles). This often involves delving into the minds of the characters they portray, leaving behind their own realities. Vasundhara says, ‘We may have plenty of worries in our personal lives. As women, we have several hardships. When we leave the house, we have to ensure that all our domestic responsibilities are completed. I have a 6-year-old daughter, who was once unwell with 102 degree temperature and I had committed to a performance on the same day. I could not disregard my commitment because no one will be able to replace me last minute. On that day I cried and left the house. But I can’t carry that worry with me, I can’t be myself, I have to be my character.’

Sumangala and Malathi hold up a cloth as a make-shift changing room. Building a team of women performers makes it possible for Mahila Yakshagana to grow. It reassures families about the safety of the girls so they are more willing to allow them to come. In a largely male group, people feel a bit hesitant and worry about how to send their daughters, especially, given that performances often only end late at night.

The multiple layers of cloth that are wrapped around the performers can get very heavy in both weight and volume. Artists typically rest their hand on the shoulder of the helper who ties the costume, like Jitashree here. Ornaments are fastened to her arm after the main costume has been worn. She looks into the light of the setting summer sun, sweat dripping down her painted face owing to the high humidity of the coast.

When asked what joys or hardships she has experienced as a woman in Yakshagana, Malati says ‘There have not been any difficulties in any way. I have only been encouraged in my journey with Yakshagana. Joys, there have been many—friendships formed, reviews and appreciation for the characters that I have played so far is a matter of much happiness.’

Sakshi, preparing for her patra in the pagadi vesha— her favourite type of costume. There are different types of costume designs that use different colours, depending on the character that is being portrayed—pagadi vesha is only one amongst these. Pagadi is shaped as a leaf; it comes from the practice of a leaf being given to devotees in temples as an auspicious act.

Nine-year old Yashna, merrily indulges in what looks like a trusting, happy fall as her costume is tied from behind. Several rotations of cloth around the waist enable even weight distribution of heavy costumes and also help the outermost layer of costume to fit properly.

Two girls wearing horns are getting dressed to enact cows from the story ‘Punyakoti’. ‘Punyakoti’ is based on a famous folk song in Karnataka about a cow that speaks the truth at all times.

Reshma, Sandhya and Premalatha are the only three women who have taken charge of the costume design component of Yakshagana in coastal Karnataka. ‘Ten years ago, my son performed in a piece—that stirred some interest and we thought we should put together a children’s group to develop Yakshagana. There is a majority of girls here so we cannot allow men to get them ready, ‘says Premalatha. They have learnt how to stitch the different costumes and make the various ornaments from Ravi Bhatt in order to be completely self-reliant. Reshma (right), says she has chosen to carve a profession out of costume design for Yakshagana; she is perhaps the only woman in the region who is able to earn a living from Yakshagana.

A typical scene from a Yakshagana green room where performers are in different stages of preparation and children as well as other non-performers are welcome to wander by. The artists believe that through Yakshagana, we can teach children many things: sathya, dharma, artha, gaurava (respect), generosity, culture, and how to deal with difference people in a diverse society. ‘Yakshagana can offer a wealth of knowledge to anyone who wants to learn. In the earlier days, some who did not have the opportunity to go to school turned to Yakshagana seeking an education. It can illuminate ideas so sophisticated that we, as post-graduates, are also unaware of them,’ say Sai Suma and Vasundhara who are both lecturers in colleges.

An essential component to successfully internalising and becoming a mythical character is to envision yourself as such. The artists express that there are areas in which Mahila Yakshagana is lacking. Sumangala Ratnakar notes: ‘Not too many women are able to deliver dialogues extempore because they do not know the matter/content of the prasanga. In order to be able to speak extempore, one must study. We need to reach that level, we cannot make the excuse that we are women and have limitations that will not allow us to study. We should study—why not?’

Maithri Bhatt spends a few quiet moments outside the green room. She recounts, ‘When I was younger, I did not know anything about Yakshagana. My grandfather—my mother’s father—was a bhagavatha. He would sit me in his lap and recite padyas. That’s how my interest in Yakshagana began.’ Her first performance, 12 years ago was for the prasanga ‘Hiranyavade’ in which she played Prahlada. She says that she is adamant on continuing the journey with Yakshagana and hopes to pursue a PhD in the subject.

Sumangala Ratnakar strikes a pose backstage as the devi who defeats the demon Mahishasura. One of the striking rasa (emotion) this character expresses is that of ‘veeram’, or heroism/courage. In Mahila Yakshagana too, it is a key sentiment. The initiative to build an all-women’s troop when there was no such notion as Mahila Yakshagana is in itself inseparably interwoven with heroism/courage; as is the effort that so many girls have invested, along with all the other responsibilities and constraints that are imposed on them.

Chaya Lakshmi (left) enacting the character of Shatrugna and Malati Venkatesh (right) who plays the character of Veeramani, dressed for their parts to go on stage for a performance on Veeramani Kalaga prasanga.

‘There is a desire to achieve something in Yakshagana. I didn’t have any interest in this art form before my mother pushed me to learn it and I became invested in it. I want to help others experience Yakshagana and maybe spark an interest in them as well. In our house, we hold classes for children—we currently teach about 30. I want that everyone learns this form and that this art is preserved; I hope for it to prosper in the future,’ says Prathistha Rai.

Prathistha and Saksha watch a performance from backstage as they await their turn to go on stage. Prathistha has been learning Yakshagana for the last seven years from Poornima Rai. She explains ‘This has not only taught me dance but has taught me how to adapt—not every place is the same. Even small things— be it washrooms, the place where we change clothes, food—we can’t insist that we will eat only food that we like. When you are hungry, you have to eat! So whatever food is available, you eat. If you perform Yakshagana, you can live anywhere you want—that is the kind of training imparted. It has been a really valuable experience for me; I have changed a lot from the person I used to be, I was not very adaptable.’

Dhruti (left) and Dhruvi (centre), who both play Devendra balas, rehearse movements minutes before they go on stage. Maithri, resting on a chair (right), recalls watching some of the artists she performs with today, ‘My mother tells me that when I was a baby, Poornima Aunty’s troop had come to our town to perform in a temple. My grandmother and mother took me to that temple to watch the performance. Apparently, I watched it without any fuss and my mother was thrilled about that! She wanted me to become an artist when I grow up because she didn't have much support to pursue this. I feel very proud to be a woman who practises Yakshagana,’ says Maithri.

Bhavyashree, the bhagavatha, sings for the Chowki Puja to Lord Ganesha. This is a decisive moment for all members involved in the performance as it is this ritual that defines the critical transition from the green room to the stage. While many women have involved themselves in the dance/theatrics of Yakshagana, there are only a few women who have engaged with the background narration or playing the musical instruments accompanying the drama.

Finished kiritas hang in the green room above a picture of Lord Ganesha who is the main deity for Yakshagana artists. A performance never begins before the Chowki Puja, where each member of the troupe is present.

‘Mahila Yakshagana developed in a way that the notion of mahila shakti shone. It was not just us performing separately; the best performers from various troops came together. It started this way and has grown since.‘

Poornima Rai, Mahila Yakshagana’s avant garde performer and teacher, walks down a hillock, making a grand entry as Mahishasura. Since starting the first all-women’s troupe in 1989, she has taught hundreds of students. ‘Yakshagana, for me, is Bhakti. We may be tired before we go on stage but the moment we cross on to the stage, there is a divine power that carries us through.’

On playing a character, Poornima says, ‘There are padhyas (poems/ verses) for each role that are convincing. But actually, I don’t know, once you go on stage, you just drown in your role, I can’t say how! Bhakthi, Shraddhe— these are the things you embody, you are inside your character, you are not yourself. Supposing you are Mahishasura, you have to be in his thinking—you have to think like the character. You have to stick your tongue out, roll your eyes, you have to imagine yourself in this light.’ As opportunities grew for Mahila Yakshagana and they began to gain more exposure, Poornima’s Mahishasura gained recognition as a character that she plays even better than her male counterparts.

Savithri, 65, is Sumanagala and Poornima’s oldest student. Gritty and determined to continue her practice, she is seen here on her 100th show. Addressing her family and friends, she says, ‘Learning Yakshagana and performing in 100 shows has been possible for me because of my husband’s support—not once has he said do not go or that he will not do a said task because it is “women’s work”.’ He has continued to encourage her even after suffering a stroke that left him partially dependent on her for everyday functioning.

Vaishnavi is another performer who has learnt both Bharatnatyam and Yakshagana. She says, ‘Yakshagana is gaining a lot of respect and value around these parts now, and we are in fact being called for more Yakshagana programs than Bharatnatyam programs.’ Yakshagana has been a male-dominated practice because of the amount of (extempore) dialogue that is involved (female artists have sometimes found to be lacking in this area due to a lack of experience). ‘The important thing is to know the viseya (matter), so that one can prepare her own dialogue or portray a multitude of characters even if the role is assigned last minute. It is the only way that we can become independent,’ explains Vaishnavi.

Another aspect of performance that many women artists find challenging is that of physical stamina: ‘For us women, we are unable to develop stamina through practice like men do because unlike them, we don’t have the opportunity to consecutively perform and practice for six months of the year. There are more hindrances for women—our practice needs to be developed alongside our other responsibilities. Our physiology is also a factor in that; after childbirth, many women experience a drastic drop in endurance levels. And periods are a problem—we cannot perform in melas when we have our period. At other times, the cramps worsen because of the heavy costumes but we cannot compromise on the performance. So yes, we do have more problems as compared to male artists but we are determined to overcome them.’

Ravi Bhatt at his home where he works along with three others to create costumes and ornaments for Yakshagana. While most of those working in this field are men, Ravi Bhatt has employed two women (one of whom is Hema—seen in this picture). He says he sees no need to discriminate between men and women and has trained all his workers in great detail, teaching them every step methodically.

Most of those who are involved in costume and ornament crafting do not usually limit themselves to a particular part of the process but instead craft the product from start to finish. Ravi Bhatt has a workshop where Krishna, one of his employees, creates the sturdy structure needed for some ornaments like the kirita.

Earlier, wood was the material used to build the structure for ornaments. However, artificial fiber is now the popular choice as it weighs a lot lesser than wood (2–3 kg compared to 14–15 kg) and is also more durable than wood. The fiber is first molded into the desired shape and left to become solid. Once it has dried, a thinner sheet of fiber is cut and stuck onto the solid structure to strengthen it. The structure is then fixed to another part if required (this kirita, for example is composed of two parts) and is finally coated with a varnish-cum-glue—like is being done in this photograph—to keep the threads of the fiber sheet in place and lend it a finishing of sorts.

Ravi Bhatt, one of the main suppliers of costumes and ornaments to Yakshagana troupes in the coastal area, trims tassels of a nearly completed chest plate. He says, ‘There is a lot of difference between the artists who used to make these ornaments and the ones who make them now. The colours, for example, each signify a particular characteristic or emotion but many of the newcomers to the profession do not understand the subtleties of it. As a result, the colours that one sees in some costumes have changed drastically.’

Richa Bhavanam

Richa was schooled at the Centre for Learning, Bangalore, where her interest for art, humanities and nature formed. She went on to study Philosophy at St. Stephen’s College, New Delhi, and is now a freelance photographer based out of Bangalore. Her training in photography began in the medium of black and white films, under the mentorship of Diba Siddiqi in 2010. In 2014, she received the Neel Dongre Awards/Grants for excellence in photography. Her photographs have been exhibited in various cities across the country and published in leading newspapers and online portals.

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